


Sleep, Sleep, Sleep

by mldrgrl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: Tiny little Post-ep for The Truth





	Sleep, Sleep, Sleep

Mulder couldn’t remember the last time he’d really slept.  Not since before his abduction, most likely, and that was a good two years ago.  He’d always had a rather fractious relationship with sleep, but there were pockets of contentment in his life where it wasn’t so bad.  He felt that way now, lying in Scully’s arms in an anonymous motel room outside of Roswell. He could let the physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion he felt win the battle and just sleep for days as long as she was there to keep vigil.

 

Outside, the rain swelled and lightning flickered, but Mulder’s senses had dulled so that everything was reduced to the quiet sound of Scully’s breathing and the feeling of her caressing his face with the tip of her nose.  He was brought back to one of the handful of nights they’d spent together, lying in his bed whispering secrets they’d never intended for one another to hear, but that had come pouring out in a post-coital haze where it felt safe to spill confessions into each other’s ears.  He’d become so drunk and drowsy by the hushed and husky sound of her voice that he’d begun to find himself floating on a cloud of unconsciousness. “Are you listening to me,” she’d whispered at the corner of her mouth, and he’d felt her words drift past his lips where he’d swallowed them whole.  He’d felt her smile and her lashes against his cheek and the tip of her nose alongside his. “Mulder, are you listening?” she’d murmured at his brow. “I hear you, Scully,” he’d thought, but was unable to speak, safe and hypnotized in her embrace.

 

And so he slept like he’d done two years ago when her voice and her body and her touch had quieted the cacophony of thoughts that normally kept him awake.  Two years ago though, the noise was softer. He had more to contend with now.

 

It was still dark and the rain still fell with intensity when he woke.  His heart was pounding and his temples dripped with sweat. His t-shirt stuck to his chest where he was damp with perspiration.  He was also cold. For a few fleeting moments, he was still in his dream when he opened his eyes, limbs immobilized by fear and steel cuffs locking his wrists and ankles.  He was waiting for the drill to be lowered, but it disappeared as he blinked, fading into the shadows on the ceiling as the whir of machinery became the patter of rain.

 

Mulder wiped his face with one hand and then plucked at his t-shirt.  He began to shiver. Immediately, the mantra he’d developed for dealing with these particular nightmares kicked in.  You’re okay, he told himself. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay. No ship. Safe. Safe. Safe. He sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it leave his lungs.  

 

Still trembling, he shifted onto his side to look at Scully.  As he watched her sleep, his body began to relax and his heart rate began to slow.  He reached over and touched her hair, rubbing the ends between his thumb and forefinger.  It was longer now than he’d ever seen it before. Still soft, though. He wished it wasn’t so dark so that he could count the freckles on her nose.  He’d missed her so much. His hand hovered over her shoulder for a few moments, but then he curled his fist and pulled his arm back to his chest, not wanting to wake her.

 

With a sigh, Mulder turned onto his back again.  There were two things that had sustained him through his isolation in the desert.  One was Scully, and the other was William. When times were the toughest, when he’d felt so lonely he’d wept until he was lightheaded and his chest ached, he’d reminded himself he was doing it for them.  That one day, they would be together again. The three of them. One day.

 

Alone and with nothing but time on his hands, he’d begun to self-reflect in a way he’d never done before.  He’d been using the excuse of his missing sister for his feelings of incompleteness for so long that he’d begun to believe it, but the cold hard truth was, he’d always felt that way.  He’d always wanted a father that didn’t prefer a handshake to a hug. He’d always wanted a mother that listened instead of saying ‘not now’ when he needed someone to talk to. His search for his sister was actually a desperate need to repair a family that never even existed.

 

Mulder would sit in his trailer and wonder if his father ever ached to hold him the way he’d ached to hold William.  He wondered if his father ever cried knowing he was missing first words or first steps or first teeth. He wondered if the thought of never seeing his son again was as unbearable for his father as it was for him.

 

He turned his head to look at Scully again as his chest tightened and his nose stung with the onset of tears.  Now neither of them would see their son again and he wondered how she could have even gotten out of bed in the morning.  He wondered if she blamed him or why she was even here with him and if he really loved her like he claimed to love her, he knew he should leave her behind instead of dragging her into hiding with him.

 

His breath hitched and he screwed his eyes shut as the tears began to fall.  It was selfish of him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having to do this alone any longer.  If she wanted to leave, he’d let her go, but he was sure it would kill him. He needed her too much and right now, she was the only thing he had.

 

Mulder turned over so that his back to was to Scully.  If she woke, he didn’t want her to see him crying. He was cold again and he hugged himself to keep from shivering.  He was so, so tired, and everything hurt. He let exhaustion take hold and pull him under again.

 

When Scully woke, she woke with the same startled jerk of the last year and one singular thought.  William? It was dark and rainy and it took a moment to remember that she wasn’t in her own bed, but in a motel, with Mulder.  Mulder! And that the static from the baby monitor had gone quiet weeks ago and William now belonged to someone else.

 

Her eyes adjusted gradually and she found herself staring at Mulder’s back.  He was curled in on himself in a way that made him look strangely small to her.  Her throat ached and her hand crawled across the space between then, but she stopped short of touching him.  There was about a foot between them, but it felt like an impossible gulf and she swallowed back the bile that churned her stomach.

 

Oh God, she thought.  What have we done? How can we do this?  How could I have been so rash to think I can leave my life behind and do this?  What life, Dana? There is no William, no x-files as you knew them, nothing to hold you there.  And the truth was, the thought of Mulder was what kept her moving forward the past year. That one day, they would get through this, and would be together again.  The three of them. One day.

 

That would never happen now, and she wondered if Mulder would come to resent her one day.  Maybe not now, when the novelty of seeing each other again was still so overwhelming, but one day when he would see a little boy about William’s age, would he hate her a little?  Should she leave now before it would be too hard later?

 

She couldn’t.  She wouldn’t do that to Mulder, or to herself.  They had lost too much and gotten so little in return for her to willingly walk away from him now.  She had already been through what life was like without him and it was too unbearable to do it again, especially now.

 

Why then, when her arms had opened so easily for him before, why should it be so hard for her to reach for him in the dark?  She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that welled and felt them slide down the side of her nose and across her upper lip.  She turned over in bed so that if Mulder woke, he wouldn’t see her crying.

 

Eventually, she wiped her face with the terrycloth sleeve of her robe.  Her dry eyes itched and burned and her nose was blocked, making it difficult to breathe.  She felt cold, and hugged herself, drawing her knees up closer to her chest.

 

“You still awake?” Mulder whispered.

 

“Sorry,” she whispered back.

 

Mulder sighed, and then as though it took great effort, rolled over and pulled Scully into him so that she was snug inside the cocoon of his arms and his knees bent up into her bent knees.  She pressed her cheek against his bicep and pressed her lips to the inside of his elbow.

 

“I’ll understand if you need to leave,” he said.

 

“I’ll understand if you want me to go,” she answered.

 

Both fought back the lumps that rose in their throats.  He tightened his grip on her and she pressed her teeth into his arm.  His heart beat so fiercely in his chest that it hurt. Her fingers found his and they fumbled to twist them together.

 

“I can’t,” she said.  “I won’t.”

 

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

 

“What are we even doing?  Where are we going? How will we…?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Okay.  We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

 

He hid his face in her hair and breathed her in.  She closed her eyes, a sort of sudden serenity coming over her.  Whatever difficulties that were bound to arise in this new life, she could take them on as long as Mulder was with her.

 

“Scully,” he whispered, and she twisted in his arms so that her face was pressed to his throat and her legs were tangled with his.  “I have nightmares. Sometimes even when I’m awake, I have nightmares. You should know that. And I should tell you that the sound of ticking clocks scares me and I don’t know why.  I can’t eat General Tso’s chicken anymore. It gives me heartburn. Some days I thought I might never see you again and I...are you listening, Scully?”

 

Scully’s mouth opened slightly against his throat and her bottom lip caught and dragged just a fraction against his skin.  She was in a haze of contentment, one he was familiar with. He was glad for it. It helped ease the ache in his chest.

 

“It won’t be easy,” he said.

 

“It never has been,” she murmured.

 

“Scully…”

 

“Shh…”

 

He palmed the back of her head and then snuck his hand into the collar of her robe to rub her neck.  His thumb circled the small bump of puckered flesh between vertebrae. 

 

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.  “Are you listening?”

 

She had fallen asleep, but he knew, simply because she was there, that she heard him.

 

The End


End file.
